


Neon Lights

by thecarlysutra



Category: Misfits
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>SUMMARY:</b> Viva Las Vegas.<br/><b>AUTHOR’S NOTES:</b> Written for blackbird for the 2014 Yuletide.  Title from the Demi Lovato song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neon Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/gifts).



 

  
  _Be still my heart 'cuz it's freaking out..._  
 _You're all I see in all these places_  
 _You're all I see in all these faces_  
 _So let's pretend we're running out of time._  
             —Demi Lovato, “Neon Lights”

 

Alisha tastes like vodka tonic with lime and sticky sweet strawberry lip gloss. Simon closes his eyes when he kisses her, like he always does, so that there is only the sensation of being with her, and nothing else. He lowers her to the bed, their casino winnings crinkling beneath them.

Alisha giggles. “Tickles,” she says. She wriggles in the green bills, and Simon thinks of snow angels. Angels usually don't have bedroom eyes like that, though. He smiles, and leans down to kiss her: her mouth, her pulse point, her breastbone. She sighs, her fingers tightening in his hair, and Simon thinks this must be what heaven is like.

 

***

 

It's just luck—such as it is—that Nathan gets hauled in by the Vegas police before the money from the Jesus fiasco is all gone. Simon lets Alisha sit by the window on the flight over.

“You know I've never been outside the country?” she says, peering out the little plastic bubble. “Barely been off the estate.”

“Me too,” Simon says. “Or … me neither. Except for once in secondary school, when we went to Devon.”

“You didn't fly to Devon, though.”

“No, my parents drove us.”

Alisha rolls her eyes at Simon completely missing the point. She locks arms with him, and snuggles against his shoulder. “First time for everything,” she says.

 

***

 

“Barry!” Nathan says when they arrive at the prison. He's grown a porn star mustache, and Alisha's lip curls as she stifles a laugh.

“Did anyone make you their bitch?” she asks, and then the laugh does come out, and even Simon is smiling.

“Are you kidding?” Nathan says, “I run this place now. I have my own gang.”

“The Bouffants?” Alisha suggests.

Nathan poses. “You wish you looked this good.”

 

***

 

They drive Nathan to Marnie and check into their hotel. There's enough money left that they stay somewhere nice, with soft linens and a grand view of the casino oasis outside. Alisha bounces on the California king mattress, upsetting the expensive bed clothes; Simon watches and smiles.

“Why did you want to come to Las Vegas?” he asks.

Alisha stops her bouncing, regards him. “I don't know. I mean, it's like all of America's only got a few cities in it, yeah? New York and LA and Chicago, maybe … Las Vegas just seemed like a jewel on the map. New York is dirty, LA is crowded; Las Vegas is where the royalty live. Like where the pharaohs and stuff lived in ancient Egypt.”

“Memphis,” Simon says.

Alisha's brow pinches. “I thought that was in Tennessee.”

“It was in Egypt first,” Simon says. He sits down beside her, takes her hand. “So, why didn't you want to go to Egypt?”

“Well, the pharaohs aren't there anymore, yeah? It's just a bunch of mummies and history lessons. Pass. Las Vegas is alive.”

“It used to be a desert, too, you know,” Simon says. “Like ancient Egypt.”

Alisha's mouth quirks, a sheepish smile. “I always wanted to be Cleopatra,” she says.

 

***

 

They change out of their traveling clothes and go downstairs to the casino. Alisha wears a dress she's bought for the occasion—silver and shining every bit as brightly as the neon lights glimmering everywhere, like Christmas—and heels. Simon walks with her on his arm, and buys her a cocktail. Her lipstick smudges the rim of the glass, and Simon watches as she sucks the juice out of the lime in her vodka tonic, his mouth going dry.

Alisha's birthday is thirteenth April, so they play thirteen on the roulette wheel.

“Lucky thirteen,” Alisha says as the ball goes bouncing across the roulette wheel. They lose on ten and twenty dollars, Simon shuffling awkwardly as he sorts through his chips, but then Alisha grabs his arm and urges him to play fifty, and they win once, twice, three times.

“I'm good luck,” Alisha says.

 

***

 

They cash in their chips and take the money back up to their hotel room. Simon goes to turn on the lights, but Alisha puts her hand over his, arresting his movement.

They walk in the dark to the bed, the only light the city of Las Vegas shining in from the wide windows. The neon lights cast a blueish glow over them, like they are underwater.

Alisha tugs at Simon's sleeve. “Let's do it like in that shit movie where Demi Moore is married to Woody Harrelson. Like that would ever happen.”

Simon smiles. “ _Indecent Proposal_.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like that, with the money all on the bed.”

They've won significantly less than Demi and Woody in _Indecent Proposal_ , but it's still a small fortune. Simon unwraps the bundle of bills and throws them on the bed while Alisha is in the bathroom taking off her dress and jewelry.

She emerges in her bra and panties, her eyes reflecting the low light. She smiles, one corner of her mouth tugging up in the way that makes Simon feel dirty in a good way. She's not a dirty girl, but sometimes she looks like one. Simon drops the rest of the money on the floor, the bills crinkling under their feet as Alisha closes the distance between them and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Simon starts unbuttoning his shirt, but Alisha's hands fold around his, and he stops.

She smiles that half-smile again. “Let me.”

Alisha undresses him slowly, her palms and fingers dragging lazily, indulgently, over his flesh. He's naked and she's still dressed, which is a problem—but as far as problems go, a good one to have. Simon puts his hands on Alisha, running his palms over her small shoulders; he pinches the clasp of her bra and lets the garment fall to the floor. He picks her up—the insignificant weight of her familiar and wonderful—and then lays her down on the bed, the money framing her. She giggles, and he kisses down her body, finally removing her panties as his mouth falls over her sex. Alisha moans and bucks against him, her fingers tight in his hair, almost painful, but she knows his body like he knows hers and she knows when to stop. He doesn't stop, his tongue sliding over her, and she raises her hips and whimpers, and her thighs press against his cheeks as her whole body shivers, a little earthquake.

Alisha is panting, the slight sheen of sweat coating her perfect body, and Simon comes up from his crouch and looks at her bathed in Las Vegas's neon lights, and he thinks of Cleopatra come to Caesar, the girl rolled out from the carpet—hair mussed and makeup smudged and still the most beautiful thing in history.

 

***

 

They pose in front of the Las Vegas sign, and get a passing tourist to take their picture. The smiles are genuine, the neon lights above them outshining the night's stars.


End file.
